Legend of Mana: Intension
by Hecatonchires
Summary: Yes, the title's a pun. A sweeping epic of the travels of a clueless wanderer, and the trouble he gets himself into
1. Also available in blue

Dawn. The rosy fingers of the rising sun slowly crept into the east wing of the Mana's Blessing, warming, caressing, and revealing the mess within. Hecatonchires drug himself to a sitting position in his bed and surveyed the room. Clothes were scattered all over, socks hanging off the doorknobs, clothes folded over the foot of the bed, and pants in piles on the floor. What was disturbing about this, however, was that he didn't bring any clothes.  
"Goo..." Hecatonchires groaned. He knew he should have made his pet sleep outside, he really did, but he could never resist puppy dog eyes. Whenever Goo gave him the eyes, it always spelled trouble, usually of the messiest sort. How his Moldy Goo managed to make puppy dog eyes, he'd never know.  
But, first things first. He kicked Goo awake and headed downstairs. Nobody was up yet, the main room of the inn was silent.   
"Must be self-serve," thought Hecatonchires. "Let's see, no continental breakfast, no muffins... Aha! An egg. Must be do-it-yourself omelets." Hecatonchires wasted no time in marching over to the corner and picking up the egg, digging out a pan, firing up the stove, making himself a large omelet. Miss Yuka, the inn owner, wandered down the stairs into the room, yawning sleepily.  
"Oh, it seems I woke up late... Sorry."  
"No problem," Hecatonchires quickly responded. "There's enough here for 3 people at least. Have a seat, it'll be ready in a minute." He cut the omelet into portions and dumped one onto a plate in front of Miss Yuka. She eyed it suspiciously.  
"This looks sort of familiar..."  
"It should," came the reply, "I used that egg you had sitting around in the corner."  
Miss Yuka stared at the plate for several moments, the full impact of the situation sinking in.  
"You... You... You IMP! CHIMERA BEAST! DEMON!!!"  
A low pattering started in the background, unnoticed by the bewildered man and the now rather perturbed canary.   
"Um... I-it was Goo!" Hecatonchires pointed at his pet in panic, who was currently in the process of absorbing Miss Yuka's potted plants.  
"So, it was you, you demon!"  
As the slavering Fat Chocobo look-alike closed in on Goo, the pattering grew louder.  
"Um, he's actually a morph, not a demo-" Hecatonchires was cut off by a loud crash as a long-haired man brandishing a large two-handed sword kicked down the door.  
"Fear not, humble citizens! I, Escad will save you from the demon! Where is he?!"  
Hecatonchires and Yuka looked at each other in confusion, the prior argument all but forgotten.  
"For the last time, he's a MORPH, not a demo-", the goo's frazzled owner started.  
"Silence! I will uproot the evil myself!" Escad began frantically searching the room, looking in closets, drawers, cabinets, and under the rug. Miss Yuka managed to weakly voice her doubts that a demon would hide under a rug, but the indefatigable Escad only laughed "Aha! But demons are tricky fellows! Why, one might even be hiding in this vase," he cried, upon which he triumphantly grabbed hold of a rather expensive looking vase. He turned it upside down and peered inside, and when he was quite satisfied that there was no demon cleverly concealed inside, he tossed it over his shoulder, resulting in a loud crash and infuriating Miss Yuka all over again. Her beloved pet Peewee was one thing, but her priceless Gato commemorative 250th Torch Lighting Ceremony vase was a different matter altogether. "Hey, maybe he's hiding in the china cabinet!"  
This was the last straw. Miss Yuka's eyes narrowed. Her wing-feathers twitched. Her beak became a ruled line. "Out! OUT! GET OUT! BOTH OF YOU! NOW!"  
Escad, for all his seeming density, knew full well that one did not want to meddle in the affairs of a 200 pound canary, much less an angry one. Whatever demon lurked in the Mana's Blessing Inn, Escad was certain she was more than capable of handling it herself. 


	2. Canaries, sproutlings, and pumpkins, oh ...

The mid morning sun shone down on the Domina Town square, warming the air and smiling down at the rustic buildings. The light danced off the happily burbling water of the fountain of the Mana Angel as a sproutling idly kicked at cobblestones, watching the townsfolk go about their business. Nothing could shatter the peacefulness, it seemed. Nothing, that is, except for two loud shouts, soon followed by their accompanying shouters, who were in the process of being flung quite forcibly from the Mana's Blessing Inn. None of the townsfolk so much as blinked, as this was a rather common occurrence.  
Hecatonchires dusted himself off and looked about, squinting in the sudden brightness, trying to trace the events that led to how he found himself outside so quickly. Last he recalled, he was being yelled at by an irate (not to mention obese) canary, then next thing he knew, he was sailing through the air, only to come to a rather sudden halt, courtesy of the rough Domina cobblestone streets. Fortunately, his fall was broken by the long-haired demon hunter.  
"You okay?" Hecatonchires asked. The only response he got was a faint "Unk," so he assumed the best and stood, dusting himself off. "Unk" was, after all, not a "Help!" or even an "Ow." He mused it must be a local term meaning "No problem, any time." Rather verbose for one word, but there's no accounting for local customs... And speaking of local customs, why in the Mana Goddess' name was that kid wearing leaves?  
"Hello," the sproutling said happily. "I like drinking water. I also like, you know, walking on leaves."  
"Uh, that's great, kid. I was wondering, could you tell me--" he started.  
"We've got no souls, you know. The poet Pokiehl said so," chimed the sproutling in the same tone.  
"Uh, wonderful, but I was wondering, where can I find--" Hecatonchires started again.  
The sproutling cut him off again, with the same singsong voice. "The cow isn't anywhere. It's inside my mind."  
"Look, kid! I just want to know where the pub is!"  
"...Pub? They make drinks made out of dead plants there. You shouldn't go there."  
"Yeah, well, my clothes are made out of dead cotton plants too, so I don't think I need to wo..." Hecatonchires trailed off at the look he got from the sproutling. "You okay, kid?"  
The sproutling's eyes went blank as it spoke, "You will be assimilated into the Sproutling Collective. Resistance is silly."  
Hecatonchires was not dull, neither was he keen on being part of whatever bizarre cult it was that required its embittered treehugging midget members to wear leaves, so he did what any sensible person would've done. He pointed at the heap of a demon hunter, said something about how he enjoyed eating sunflower seeds, then hightailed it down the nearest convenient alley, only to discover an oversized pumpkin.  
"Hey, Jack. Got any change?" it asked. At his guest's incredulous look, it continued "Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I used to be part of a plan to take over the world with giant pumpkins, but the kid who was behind it got his bum kicked by some yahoo with poor choice in headgear. So, here I am, wasting away in this back alley, washed up, just waiting for the town punks to come with baseball bats..."  
Hecatonchires would have loved to stay and chat, but his better sense told him he was safer somewhere else, somewhere far away from vegetables, talkative or otherwise, especially those bent on avenging their fallen brethren. As he hunted desperately for an escape, a sign caught his eye: "Pub: Amanda and Barret's." It couldn't be any worse than maniacal birds, insane plant kids, and talking pumpkins, so he wasted no time in making a break for the door.  



	3. Drown your sorrows in a sea of penguins!

Hecatonchires quickly forgot the din of the street outside as he burst through the doors of the Amanda and Barret's Pub. Patterns of sunlight fell on the wooden floor from high windows in the wall, cutting stark outlines through the smoke in the air. A table in the corner was overrun with Pirate Penguins, who were bragging of their latest exploits, and complaining about the Diggers.  
Hecatonchires ordered a Sacred Elixer Malt and took a seat at the bar, nursing his drink and a black eye, contemplating the day's events. Goo, who had slinked in after him, sat in the corner, pondering the pros and cons of tripping the moth-winged serving girl. Its thought process went something along the lines of "Trip... Good. Drink fall, get drink... Trip... Bad, master get mad when trip. Hmm." Little did he realize his master's thoughts were following much the same course. "Drink... Good. Drink more, feel happy. Drink... Bad, get drunk. Hmm."  
At this point, both of their problems were moot, however, as Hecatonchires was already drunk, and consequently wouldn't notice even if his pet Moldy Goo DID trip the serving girl. However, Goo did manage to do something that was quite successful in rousing the attention of his now-inebriated master, namely starting romantic relations with a pirate penguin's leg. Moldy Goos being as tactful as they are, Goo skipped the goodnight kiss and went straight for the kill. Loud, panicked squawks filled the bar room in the space of seconds.  
"Cap'n! Cap'n! It's attackin' me leg! HELP! HELP!" the penguin screeched. The table quickly fell into disarray as half of the penguins tried to leap out of the window in panic and the other half tackled Goo, quickly forming a massive pile of flailing penguins. Goo oozed out from beneath the tangle, but they didn't even notice in their fierce melee. Hecatonchires only stared, blinking as the noise filled the pub.  
"Ya'll never get our booty, foul slime!"   
"Yeah, yeah! Never!"   
"OW, watch it! That's my leg!"   
"Quiet, we be fearless pirates who feel no pain!"   
"Maybe you don't, but that HURT!"  
Unnoticed by the penguins, the booty in question lay unguarded on the table.   
"Odd," though Hecatonchires, "it really does look like a booty... Come to think of it, that's a baby's booty! What are the penguins doing with it?" His thoughts were cut short by a quick "Dub!" as a dudbear rushed in the door, grabbed the booty, and dashed out the way he came. The melee in the middle of the floor instantly ceased.  
"He got our booty!"  
"He stole it! He's with the Diggers!"  
"Those Diggers are always stealing our booty!"  
"Yeah, yeah! THIS MEANS WAR!"  
"Spoken like a true penguin!"  
"Yeah, yeah! But first we need recruits... Hey, what about that guy by the bar? He looks good. We'll stick a fake beak on him, and he'll never know the difference."  
"But what if he doesn't want to come? He's kinda big."  
"He'll want to come after we're through with him! ATTACK!"  
Hecatonchires looked away from the door just in time to see a veritable tide of penguins, all flying through midair on a collision course with him. Either he had too much to drink, or it was just one of those days. Either way, he blacked out.  



	4. The briny deep ain't a pickle barrel!

Hecatonchires awoke slowly, and stretched, flopping over to lay on his back, then opened his eyes. The sight that greeted him made him quickly shut his eyes again. A hairy, tusked walrus is the LAST thing a person needs to see in the morning, but unfortunately for Hecatonchires, it was the first thing.  
"Looks like you're finally awake, matey! Sorry for what me boys did to ye!"  
Hecatonchires groaned. This was all just a dream... Ignore the walrus with an Aussie accent, and he'll go away. He'll wake up safe at home, with Goo behaving for once, a hot pot of coffee ready for him... Wait, if he woke up to that, he'd KNOW he was dreaming. Regardless, he woke up.  
A hairy, tusked walrus face leaned over him the instant his eyes opened. "Today REALLY isn't my day," thought Hecatonchires.  
"Looks like you're finally awake, matey! Sorry for what me boys-"  
Hecatonchires cut him off "Yeah, I know, nothing that some fresh air can't fi- OH, GODDESS!" he cried, looking out the porthole. Nothing but ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see. He *hated* the ocean. His father hadn't been a seafarer, nor his father before him, nor his grandfather, nor even his great grandfather. His Great-great-great grandfather had been a mariner, but nobody in the family liked to talk about him anyway.  
"That's water," noted Hecatonchires.  
"Aye, ain't it great! Nothin' but sea, for nothin' but miles and miles!" beamed Cap'n Tusk.  
"Yes, but you don't understand," continued Hecatonchires. "That's WATER."  
"Oh, I understand completely! It's what bein' a man of the sea is all about! The boundless depths of the ocean, the salt breeze, the..." Tusk trailed off. "Ye okay, mate? Ye're lookin' green about the gills."  
"I don't think I'm getting through to you. That's water. WET water. Make it go away. NOW," he whimpered.  
Their conversation was brought to an abrupt halt as a penguin rocketed through the door, sliding on his belly and squawking at the top of his lungs. "CAP'N! We got the info! The diggers are fleein' with the booty through the Junkyard!"  
Cap'n Tusk rubbed his flippers together in anticipation. "Finally, we c'n nail the demons who swiped our booty!"   
Unnoticed to all but our hero, the slight patter of footsteps drifted up from below deck. Hecatonchires whimpered, "Don't say that word..."  
Tusk looked down, confused. "What word? 'Demon'?"  
The footsteps grew louder, and Hecatonchires groaned.  
"Ye're just paranoid, matey. Get some rest, yer trainin' to make ye a REAL man o' the sea starts tomorrow! Then ye can take out as many demons as ye like!"  
Hecatonchires looked for a place to hide as the footsteps rushed down the hall, and Tusk opened the door to leave, oblivious. Tusk opened the door with all the gusto of a man of the sea, but it only opened halfway. He thought this odd, so he tried to open it a few times more, with equal vigor. The door stopped in the same place each time, with a resounding thud. Tusk poked his head out the crack in the door to see what was stopping it, and found a long-haired man, who was waving a large sword about rather unsteadily. He promptly collapsed backwards on the floor.  
"Friend o' yours?" asked Tusk.  
Hecatonchires muttered "Uh, something like that." He slumped back onto the cot that he had woken up on, thinking "I've only been awake a few minutes, and it's been a long day already..." He drifted off to merciful unconsciousness to the sound of Tusk chuckling to himself and dragging the now-unconscious Escad down the hall.  



	5. M R CMen? S A R, C D Men O D C?

Cap'n Tusk paced the front of the briefing room aboard the SS Buccaneer. He swelled with pride as he surveyed the assembled ranks before him. Here was the cream of the crop, the pride of penguin mothers everywhere, brave, bold, fearless--"Get your finger out of your nose!" barked Cap'n Tusk. He sighed. They may not be all that, but they were all he had to work with.  
"Wait a second... Where's the new feller?" Tusk inquired. "Last I saw, 'e was leaning over the deck. Must be starin' at the sea. Funny, seemed like he couldn't stand it yesterday. Must be takin' to it like a fish!"  
Little did Cap'n Tusk realize, Hecatonchires had more of an affinity with fish than he ever realized. In fact, at that very moment, he was leaning over the railing and feeding said fish with vigor only befitting a true man of the sea. After sharing his breakfast with the Iffish in the water below, he slumped into a sitting position, his back against the railing. He swore to himself that if he was ever so much as given a glass of saltwater ever again, someone would pay. "Probably me," he gasped, leaning back over the railing.  
The briefing room door opened, interrupting his reverie. Penguins spilled out, shouting something about making the dudbears pay for their stolen booty. Hecatonchires wondered briefly why anyone should pay for their booty; after all, they *were* born with it. He reached out and grabbed the nearest penguin by its neck and asked, "Hey, what's the big ruckus?"  
"Grrphlle."  
"What?"  
"Gnnk-grrrd! *gag!*"  
Hecatonchires considered this for a moment. "Gnnk-grrd... Junkyard? I didn't catch that last part, though. Could you say that again?" The penguin gagged in compliance. Hecatonchires just shook his head in confusion. "Sorry, I don't think we're communicating." The penguin managed a weak warble. "You want to ask me something?" This met with a nod that looked like someone had decided to take up tap-dancing on top of the penguin's head. "Uh, alright. What is it?" Wheeze. "Huh?" Choke. "Come again?" Gasp! "Ohhhh! Sorry." Hecatonchires let go, allowing his informant a whole new appreciation of his lungs. And his legs, as he wasted no time in getting quite a good distance away.  
So that was it. Hecatonchires knew he was here for some reason, it had just escaped him temporarily. Of course, a lot had been escaping him lately. Namely, his lunch, his pride, and, he was quite certain, his sanity as well. Regardless, he drug himself to his feet and wobbled after the penguins.  
Several leagues and at least that many rounds of 'Ninety-Nine Tankards of Grog on the Wall' later (The penguins had tried to make one, long round by going into the negatives, but a few swift kicks sorted matters out), Hecatonchires found himself on the shore of the Junkyard, suspiciously eyeing the rowboat that had carried him here. He just KNEW that it was waiting for an opportunity to sink, and he was afraid that since nobody was tending to it now, it might find its chance.   
His attention diverted back to the heaped mounds of trash. What struck him as odd was that they all appeared to be toys, as if some celestial brat had the mother of all temper tantrums, and here lie the remains of his toy chest. Did that teddy bear just...? No, it must be his imagination, though Hecatonchires. He shook his head and set off after the penguin scouts he was assigned to.  
  
* * *  
  
Elsewhere in the junkyard, the toys were growing restless. Magnolia had heard of the intruders, and was busy rousing the artifacts to fend them off. A swift kick to a rocking horse here, setting a fire under a doll here... And her army was assembled. Magnolia surveyed her troops with a small measure of annoyance, her head-torches flickering.  
"Alright, listen up, folks. We need to do some serious scaring here, or the Underworld Horror Tour Company is going to revoke our haunting license. We don't want that. Everyone look lively, we've got guests, and you all know what that means." Magnolia sighed as a familiar springy head bobbed in question. "No, Jack, it doesn't mean we make puppy-dog eyes and hope a kind-hearted little boy takes us home and feeds us." The spring-loaded face sagged dejectedly. "Now, go forth, my minions! Raise the legions of the forgotten, and drive out the intruders!"  
Magnolia allowed herself a small swell of pride as her rag-tag soldiers trundled off, intent on a good scare. The past wars may have scarred them, but they made them tough. Or most of them, anyway. "And STAY forth!" she shouted at a moping rocking horse. A good toy was hard to find these days, it seemed...  



	6. Granz Steel Magnolia

Hecatonchires looked around at the landscape and sighed. For the resting-place of the Faerie War artifacts, it looked suspiciously like the remnants of a mad toymaker's workshop. Mounds of broken, discarded, and near-decaying gadgets grinned up at him giddily in a rainbow wash of color that nearly turned his stomach. This, he was told, was the Graveyard of Artifacts, the home of the witch Anise of old, the monument of an epic war long since passed. Despite its tragic history, it gave visitors the impression of a horrendous carnival booth fallen into disarray.  
Having visited many old antique shops (and his ailing grandmother's house, besides), Hecatonchires knew that anything "historical" tends to have a distinct smell. The Junkyard was *very* historical. Historical enough to make the eyes water in fact, which is precisely the effect that it had. A commanding voice mercifully yanked Hecatonchires' mind back from his surroundings.  
"Right," barked Cap'n Tusk, ignoring the decidedly historical bouquet. "Fan out, and find those Dudbears!" A small squeak from the back ranks drew his attention. The source of the noise was Pip, a rather short penguin, and a new recruit. His mother was a sensible penguin, who had obviously believed that if someone was given the 'short' end of the stick, genetically speaking, then they ought to at least be named the part.  
"Um," he squeaked again, "That might be consid'rably difficult, Cap'n." At the evil look the comment drew from Tusk, he blundered embarrassedly onward, muttering "Seein' as how we're not pirate PEACOCKS, an' all..." The Cap'n's evil look continued. "...I mean, with no tail t'fan, I was just thinkin'--"   
"Fan out," continued Tusk slowly, "An' anyone wantin' t'take issue with that order will be strung up by 'is..." Tusk floundered lamely, losing his nerve at the last. "Strung up by 'is..." The crew waited breathlessly as one; Tusks' threats were not ones to be missed. "His... Dangly bits," finished Tusk with a dismissive wave of his flipper. The crew burst into applause at the conclusion of another threat well done. What they didn't realize was that the Cap'n was referring to the tassels on their uniforms, though he wasn't about to admit it.  
Tusk coughed to cover his pleased embarrassment and continued. "Pairs o' two, no more. Everyone pick a partner, an' off ye go."  
Hecatonchires stepped forward into the press of penguins, only to find that they had all instantly paired up and made off. As if they're eager to be away, he mused. A pair of shy eyes attached to a minute penguin answered what it was exactly that they were eager to be away from.  
"So," piped Pip. "Looks like we're partners, huh?"  
Slow realization dawned on Hecatonchires as Pip adjusted his belt, uncomfortable with the obviously foreign weight of his scimitar. Pip blushed as his seemingly more experienced partner eyed him with what Pip interpreted as polite interest. Hecatonchires was actually wondering if the diminutive waterfowl had ever actually unsheathed the oversized blade, but was too afraid to ask.  
He shook his head and started off in a muddle of disbelief and anxiety as his short partner began relating the extended history of his blade, which had apparently been crafted out of real Wendel Silver so it could be all shiny and pirate-like, his mum had put a lot of work into it, and wasn't it heroic looking?  
"A short, annoying tag-along and an uncertain future," thought Hecatonchires. "At least things are back to normal..."  
  
***  
  
Magnolia was irritated, to say the very least. She'd caught a glimpse of the new tour group as they arrived. They were penguins. Magnolia *hated* penguins. They were always so noisy and never picked up after themselves, though they never hesitated to pick up after others; often while said others were still quite attached to what was being relieved from them. She sighed, knowing the next few days would be spent picking up discarded pirate oddities in an effort to keep the Junkyard at a manageable level of clutter.  
Haunting license or no, the self-styled guardian of the Junkyard could not and would not abide penguins. The only problem was, they were as fearless as they were dense. Or perhaps they were fearless BECAUSE they were dense, Magnolia was never quite sure of that. Regardless, she had to think of something...  
Her torches flared with irritation as an all-too-familiar smiley face disturbed her deliberations. "JACK! How many times do I have to tell you?! FRIGHTEN then, don't AMUSE them!" Magnolia sighed. These toys would be the death of her one of these millennia. 


End file.
